


And I Won't Leave Until You Come Downstairs

by CaffeineChic



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeineChic/pseuds/CaffeineChic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He bursts into the room, all swirling energy and boundless plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Won't Leave Until You Come Downstairs

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at Doctor Who fic, and first fic in....3 years? 4 years? 5ever years?
> 
> Feedback always welcome.

 

“River! Time for adventures!!” He bursts into the room, all swirling energy and boundless plans. The door closes behind him, swinging back into the frame. He flinches half apologetically at the sound.

Possibilities are pouring from his skin, washing over her as she tracks him with one heavy-lidded eye, face down on the bed.

She hasn’t moved. “What are you doing?”

“Not sleeping, apparently.” She makes a noise and wraps her arms further around her pillow. She is just back from adventures, with a him that isn’t this him. The Doctor roaming her room is younger than the one she just left.

(He won’t come here when he’s older. He won't tell her why. She fears the sound of four hearts breaking.)

He is fidgeting with things on her bedside table, rummaging and investigating and turning things over. There is nothing there he shouldn’t see, she always makes sure of it. He doesn’t ask though, his curiosity greater than his caution.

(It is dangerous behaviour. Or idiotic. He is both in equal measures, depending on the day.)

He knocks over a trinket and takes three attempts to right it.

“You can’t be still for five minutes.”

(It is a question. A statement. A fact. A request.)

Laughter weaves itself into the room through the floor below. Shapeless words and sounds follow – a radio turns up, music louder. She smiles.

A shriek of “Rory!” and she knows her father is trying to dance Amy around the kitchen.

He’s staring at her. (Not the first time, not the last. He thinks she doesn’t notice. She always notices. She stares too.) “He waited two thousand years for her.” He lowers onto the bed beside her, all ceremony and affected ease. “I’ll wait. I can wait.”

Like a challenge.

He has all of time at his fingertips. He never has to wait.

Idiot.

She allows him this gesture. She doesn’t need it. She needs only for him to be still long enough so she can unfurl from sleep.

(Their life isn’t waiting. It’s running.)

She settles into his side. She breathes him in. (He is like time unfolding in every direction.) His hand tangles in curls immediately, instinctively. A corkscrew of gold around his finger.

“You like being here.” (She knows he doesn’t mean instead of prison, or instead of with him. Here is more than a place.)

“Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate. “They know who I am.”

(From before.

From now.

They know her. She grew up as their friend. She grew into their daughter. She likes being here. And now.

Rory tries to send her to bed at a “reasonable hour.” Sometimes she goes.)

She closes her eyes, breathing, listening.

He is still for 176 seconds. (She’s impressed.) His foot starts to twitch. His neck craning to look around the room more. His fingers move to her shoulder, tapping, circling. (He writes in three different languages, all translating to _now_ and _go_ and _River_ and _us_.)

“We’ll run. As fast and far as you like.”

“I said I’d wait!” His voice is high and coloured with _Look at me! Adventures out there, but here I am, in here. The Doctor on pause. Waiting!_ (For you.)

“Idiot,” she breathes as kisses him, tugging on his lapels to drag him closer. (It is hardly a drag – he follows her willingly, if awkwardly. All limbs and hands and knees that knock hers. This him is definitely younger.)

“You two, keep that door open!”

Amy’s voice hurtles up the stairs and through the closed door, sending the Doctor to the floor with a startled thud. He’s more energy and adrenaline than functioning motor control.

“Mother, you cannot be serious.”

“River.” (In a word. She is.)

She stands and steps over the mess of legs that is the Doctor to open her door and shout down to Amy. “I’m old enough – ” (she starts to giggle) “ – to have a boy in my room. I’m older than you.”

“I’m older than all of you, keep that door open.” Rory is decidedly not giggling.

Amy is Amy. But Rory. She stops laughing. (Mostly.)

“Right. We should go. Adventures, River!” He has found his feet and managed to get upright. (She’s mildly surprised it took only one try. But then again – he’d heard Rory, too.)

He bounds out of the room with a grab of her hand and almost trips down the stairs. She follows more smoothly.

“Ponds! I’m taking your daughter out. That’s ok isn’t it? Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be? This is what we do – adventuring! I’ll have her back in no time.” He is babbling and trying his hardest not to look Rory in the eyes. She hides her grin behind her hand.

Amy winks at her over Rory's shoulder. (The Doctor, flustered. They are endlessly amused.)

She kisses her father’s cheek. "See you later." She pushes the Doctor out the door.

“Be back in time for tea.”

“Time machine! I’m never late,” the Doctor shouts as he runs for the TARDIS. (A familial groan rumbles forth. They all know better.)

“River, you drive.”

“Oi!” He circles back to argue but she catches and pulls him on.

"Come along, Doctor."

Her hand in his. She tugs. They run.

 


End file.
